


my peace has always depended, on all the ashes in my wake

by thesockhop



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark, M/M, Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 20:09:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20823086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesockhop/pseuds/thesockhop
Summary: Peter’s just incapacitated twenty-six of his illusion drones at once, the absolute brat, when a stray shot hits his ankle and Peter falls down, down, down with a wet crunch.Edith is a second from obliterating him, and fuck, he’s going to regret this. “Honey, wait a minute.”





	my peace has always depended, on all the ashes in my wake

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Hozier's Arsonist's Lullaby.  
Time for a fic from Quentin's pov, we'll see if this goes over better than Peter's or yknow ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Peter’s just incapacitated twenty-six of his illusion drones at once, the absolute brat, when a stray shot hits his ankle and Peter falls down, down, down with a wet crunch. 

Edith is a second from obliterating him, and fuck, he’s going to regret this. “Honey, wait a minute.” 

“Disengage from all targets?” 

Bless, his dear ai sounds confused, how adorable. 

“Peter Parker is no longer a target, execute all others.” 

“The drone watching Nick Fury has been destroyed.” 

“Fuck! I want fifty, no a hundred drones after Fury. He needs to be dead as soon as possible. Got that Edith? And anyone with him. Anyone that sees.” 

“New priority target assigned,” Edith says. 

Spiderman groans, struggling to stand up. “Tranq the kid, I want him brought to me.” 

“What?” a nearby voice squawks. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind about wanting, what was it, minimum innocent casualties?” 

William colors, “I haven’t, I’m uh, surprised that’s all.” 

Quentin clasps his shoulder with a grin, “Mysterio is getting a sidekick. Got that Gutes?” 

There’s a groan over the comms, mutterings about having to rewrite perfectly good speeches. 

At the end of the day, Mysterio saves the world, and for the next news cycle they have some footage to leak Jameson. With Fury confirmed dead, they’re going ahead with the last bastion of Hydra story (Fury would be rolling over in his grave were he given one), where poor Spiderman was mind-controlled into threatening London. 

It’s been a long excellent fucking day, and the frosting on top of his world cake is waiting for him. Quentin goes into the cell, starts off with a few minor illusions to make it feel more like a hotel room. Peter’s still passed out on the bed, striped down to his boxers and undershirt. His ankle was bandaged up properly, and Edith scans him to make sure there aren’t any hidden weapons. 

There aren’t, and Quentin sits on the bed. He wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t want to kill Peter, the kid’s brilliant. And the way he eagerly laps up praise, would have dropped to his knees after a few carefully worded compliments? Delightful. It’ll take more than that now of course, but Quentin will bring him back around. He’s a master of illusion, and poor Peter is a mess of abandonment and daddy issues in a pretty little package. 

Peter wakes up slowly, jaw cracking with a yawn before his eyes flutter open. He scrambles backwards with a yelp, whacking his ankle on something, keeps backing up until he hits the headboard. 

“You lost Peter.”

“Why am I-” he cringes, looking around and down at what he’s wearing. “Are my friends okay?” 

This is exactly why Quentin likes being around smart people, smart and gullible, what a perfect combination. “For now.” 

“What-” Peter swallows, “How do you want me?” 

He smirks, “Maybe I want your brains to engineer new tech.” 

Peter goes bright red, and Quentin laughs. “Kidding. You can start with a blowjob.” 

The kid hesitates, and Quentin shrugs, “Or I can start in on your friends. Would Happy or MJ dying motivate you more?” 

Peter crawls forwards quickly, wincing and undoing his jeans, “Please don’t- don’t hurt them.” 

“Don’t give me a reason kid.” 

It’s genuinely surprising how quickly Peter has his dick out, hot, wet warmth wrapped around him. He’s no expert, but he’s good enough that Quentin asks, “Did you ever do this for Stark?” 

Peter chokes, withdraws quickly, “No, no of course not.” 

Quentin hums, decides he likes it better this way. “Bet he thought about it. Bet that’s why he kept you so close.”

A tear slips down Peter’s cheek, “Don’t- please don’t talk about him.” 

He looks down at his dick pointedly, “Distract me and maybe I won’t. I bet Edith knows, hey honey-” 

Peter mouth is back around his cock, sucks down all but the last few inches. It’s beyond tempting to thrust his hips up and make him choke again, but today’s all about training Peter to act properly, fun will have to come after. 

He pets Peter’s face, sinks a hand into his hair. It’s a wonderful length to pull, and he feels Peter groan around his dick when he does. Fuck, what a beautiful trophy he’s gotten. They’ll have to put one of their smallest, Sam probably, in the spidersuit to keep up appearances. The whole world will think of them as the good guys, look to them first in a crisis. Yeah, Quentin’s rather pleased by this turn of events. And whenever he needs to actually break Peter, there’s still the vault footage- rather convenient almost all of them died together.

Peter’s jaw must be sore as hell, but his little spider keeps sucking him off, varying the tempo and depth and intensity, tries humming a few times. He still doesn’t have his breathing under control, probably because he’s panicking about his friends, and it allows for Quentin to fake nonchalance. He’s hard sure, but he’s also a hundred numbers deep into the Fibonacci sequence, could keep this up all night. He decides to give the kid a bit of a break, curious to see how he’ll respond. 

“Mmm, this is getting boring. MJ’s the blonde right?” 

He can feel Peter freeze, can see his mind whirling, debating if he should correct him or not. Peter pulls off his cock, but keeps a hand on him, the kid’s learning. 

“Please Mr. Beck, please fuck me.” 

He wraps his hand around Peter’s, jerking himself off faster. It doesn’t take much with how long he’s been holding off, and he grunts out, “I told you to call me Quentin.” 

He’s coming over Peter’s face before he can respond, and the kid’s lips were made for a facial. Standing up he tucks himself away, and Peter’s blubbering, tears mixing with the come on his face. 

“Please- please I’ll do _anything_! I want you to fuck me so bad, please-”

Quentin scoffs, “Trouble is baby, I don’t believe you.” 

-

Quentin watches the tapes after the best night’s sleep he’s ever gotten. The first twenty minutes is Peter crying on the bed, still hasn’t washed up and looking debauched as hell. He spots the camera suddenly, goes very still and his face goes very red. The anger’s clear in his expression, and he looks away, clenching his jaw. 

Smart little spider. 

He gets up and heads to the only visible door, the water running. Beck fasts forward, and Peter emerges with damp hair, crawls into bed and falls asleep. He doesn’t rest easy, tossing and turning, and unfortunately doesn’t say anything interesting in his sleep. (As if Quentin really needs more ammunition on the kid.)

Catching up to real time, Peter’s still sleeping, and he has Edith lock the door both ways so only he can access the kid. It was foolish to forget last night, he was feeling way too good. 

Peter doesn’t go through the usual phases a prisoner would. He doesn’t search out the room for an escape, doesn’t scream or pound on the walls angrily, doesn’t try anything funny with the cutlery he’s given to eat meals with. He doesn’t talk about how he’s been left completely alone, doesn’t talk at all. Quentin would like to believe it’s because Peter’s smarter than that, but he’s fairly certain it’s only because Peter thinks his friends’ and Aunt’s lives are in the balance. 

On day nine, Peter wakes up with a boner. His eyes cut to the camera, and with a teasing slowness, he pulls his shirt off and slides a hand down his boxers. His cheeks are redder than ever, and he gets himself off quickly, the blush not fading a bit. Peter takes a shower after that, the audio damning for a good thirty-two minutes and nineteen seconds. 

Quentin adds a bottle of lube to the dinner tray, can’t wait to see if his blush can get darker. 

He’s not fully present at the afternoon took-over-the-world club meeting, but that’s why his crew is smart. They don’t actually need him for the minutia, he’s a big picture kind of guy. 

“Edith, alert me when Peter Parker is sleeping.” 

He can’t have the kid too confident, no matter how good the show is, Quentin won’t be seeing him until tomorrow. (Unless he wants to fuck him awake, and wouldn’t that be something, the transition from Peter being completely relaxed to tense, the look in his eyes-)

Dammit, now he’s turned on and impatient. 

Three beers later he’s unwound a bit, and Edith is chirping that Parker’s sleeping. Excellent. He stretches out on his bed, has a hologram of Peter floating in the air above him. He strokes his dick lazily, admiring him. Even without a clock, Peter has learned what time dinner comes, is staring at the table. 

“Play footage.” 

The dinner tray and lube pops into the room, and Peter’s face is indeed red, but more than that he looks determined. Curious, Quentin wonders if he was expecting such an item to show up. Or perhaps he thought Quentin would?

He fast forwards through Peter eating dinner, and then showering again. Toweling off, he glances where the disguised door is, and oh, that’s good to know. Apparently Peter can see through the illusions- interesting. That he regularly chooses not to is good to keep in mind.

Peter picks up the lube and drops his towel, getting on the bed. He’s lost a little muscle since being trapped, still rather fetching. Maybe even more so, Quentin does enjoy being bigger than him in all ways. Peter rubs his cock a few times, eyes flicking over to the camera. His cock is small and slender and pretty, matches the rest of him nicely. 

He waits a beat and then _tucks his ankles behind his neck_. Holy shit. Thank fuck he didn’t watch this live, would have been in his cell, plans be damned. 

Peter looks at the camera again, blushing, “Please?” 

His hole looks perfect, wants to eat him out until there’s beard burn on his thighs, fuck him until he can’t move without feeling an echo of him inside. He wants a stranger to look at the kid and somehow think, oh yeah, that’s Mysterio’s boy. 

Peter shivers, and he missed him getting lube on his hands, warming it up. His left hand goes to his dick, and his right Quentin watches with bated breath. It drags, teases really, slowly down his chest, down his belly, two fingers curl around his balls to prod at his hole. 

Both sink into his ass, and Peter whines, thighs clenching. He jerks off faster, fingers going as deep as they can into his ass. He doesn’t fuck himself with them, just clenches around them, hole twitching as his left hand goes even faster. He looks absurdly comfortable like this, and Quentin’s hit by the burning realization that Peter has most definitely done this before. Probably alone in that shitty Queens apartment, movements more unsure and awkward.

“Quentin, please, need you to fuck me,” Peter groans, muscles spasming as he shoots all over his chest.

He pauses the recording, rewinds, and listens to Peter say it again and again and again, squeezing his cock and coming. 

Yeah, the kid definitely convinced him. 

-

_Six months later._

“I want to see them in person, give May a hug.” 

“Sweetheart, you know you can’t touch holograms.” 

Peter whimpers, as he tends to at any reminder that they’re all really dead. He trails wet kisses down his sternum, speaks against his belly, “Please sir, anything.” 

Quentin sighs, but he already has a body double in mind and May dying in his arms will make for an excellent punishment if Peter thinks about disobeying him. (Or if he gets bored, Quentin will be the first to admit he isn’t anything close to an honest man.)

“Alright baby. God I spoil you.” 

Peter beams up at him, and wraps his lips around his cock. 

It’s good to be king.


End file.
